


Lán Wàngjī is Sick of Darkspawn

by Nachi_the_Nacho



Series: WangXian in Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 魔道祖师 | Módào Zǔshī (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cultivators in Thedas, F/M, How Do I Tag, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī Is So Done, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī is Bad at Communicating, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Multi, Pining, Pining Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, The Circle of Magi (Dragon Age), lwj centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nachi_the_Nacho/pseuds/Nachi_the_Nacho
Summary: Lán Wàngjī is somehow transported to Thedas, and acts as a Companion throughout Dragon Age: Origins. All the while, he is pining for his Wèi Yīng.
Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn
Series: WangXian in Thedas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092347
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17
Collections: Cultivators in [World]





	Lán Wàngjī is Sick of Darkspawn

**Author's Note:**

> My first written fan fiction, beta’d by CrazyRob and GracefulLily. 
> 
> In which Lán Wàngjī is “escorted” to the Circle of Magi, undergoes his Harrowing, and engages in communication with Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving.
> 
> Edited because of a misspelling in the title, edited and revised, and now around 2,000 or so words are added.

The Circle of Magi never, really, promoted the idea of hobbies, besides ways to enhance magical prowess and subdue insurrections. Guided meditation was as close to a hobby as one could find in the Circle’s tower. There was little free time when your days were consumed by endless studying.

Mages were tools to be harnessed and used against Ferelden’s enemies, while being contained and controlled. If the mages were too weak, then they were useless, and magic users that are too strong were threats. After all, demons, and thus Magic, were too dangerous to the user and those around them. The templars and Circle were benignly protecting everyone involved, not malevolently striking the mages down.

Heretics and heathens of the highest order, similar to the Avvar and Dalish led by mages. The mages were enemies of Andraste, fools that played god, and yet believed they walked in the Maker’s footsteps. They were weak minded and easily scared, like children, and, therefore, could not be left to their own devices.  
  


Apostates were normally brought to the circle young and susceptible to changes in their way of life, or not at all. Many apostates would take their life rather than be dragged to the Circle, after all.

Like many others, farmer’s families would sometimes try to hide their children’s curse. The newest addition to Ferelden’s Circle of Magi came from Lothering, supposedly. The people of Lothering have always been farmers.

He didn’t look like a farmer. He didn’t look Ferelden, even.

He wore robes like a mage, though white when most mages would hardly draw that much attention to themselves. His only headpiece was also a white ribbon, long as his black hair and flowing down his back.

He walked —no, almost glided— in with his head held high while surrounded by Templars, as if he were a king and they were his vanguard. This mage showed no sign of the fear ingrained into apostates by society and families. His face was blank and wrinkle free. Unlike a farmer, his complexion was pale and smooth. Even dirty and disheveled from the traveling, the man still projected a noble air. 

However, weirdest of all, the guards had confiscated a stringed instrument and a large sword from him. The instrument was odd enough, as most of the mages had never seen such a tool before, constructed from light wood and long hairs.

However, a  **mage** utilizing a sword? Such a thing was absolutely absurd! Even apostates never bothered carrying swords. Next you know, they’d say he’ll be fighting using the instrument and flying on the sword.

* * *

  
Lán Zhàn, courtesy name Lán Wàngjī, stood in a handstand in the corner of the common room.

He had shed his new, Circle-approved over-robes for the tunic and trousers that were worn underneath, and folded and placed the robes on a nearby table. The new robes fit less loosely than his own sect’s uniform, but they were still loose enough to fall over his face, and restricted his movements so much more than the Gūsū Lán Sect’s white silk robes. 

The only part of his sect’s uniform that he’d refused to part from had been his forehead ribbon. He had been quite adamant, though calm, during that discussion, and they had eventually conceded that a ribbon is not too out of place on a mage’s head. It was too small of a matter to be seriously punished for, anyway.

The new clothes were also comparatively scratchy. Not that he’d mention that to the others; “Do not live extravagantly” is a Gūsū Lán Sect rule, after all. It would be unfair for him to obtain better items than the others.

The others were … mages, similar to the ones chatting or studying all around the common room. A rare few were even trying to copy his handstand, thinking it a fun, new trick. Those who tried mostly fell within a few seconds, had to lean on their friends or the walls for support, or could not succeed. He, like the others in his sect, utilized handstands as a way to increase his arm and upper body strength. Cultivation arts, like archery and swordsmanship, required intense training for just one swing of a sword or to draw one arrow, after all. Mages, it seemed, tended to prioritize their mental fortitude and skills, as opposed to how cultivators were required to be sound of body and mind.

The other disciples had avoided him at first, chattering and stealing glances at him as he went about most of his daily routines. The current discussion seemed to center around whether he was born wrong or “Where’s his Brand of Tranquility?”

Of course, there were also quite salacious comments, like when one of his new peers remarked, “Is it wrong that I still want to climb him like a tree?” Similarly, many of the other mages proposed that “With his looks, he’d be a great catch…”

It wasn’t that Lán Wàngjī had never experienced others being lecherous, and, indeed, most of the gossip he had already heard due to being one of the Two Jades of Lán. However, Lán Sect disciples and guests tended to follow etiquette and watch their manners in Gūsū Lán. As the second master, there were very few people that would dare to gossip in front of him

Still, despite the impropriety, he also couldn’t help but notice that they kept comparing him to “tranquil,” who were other residents of the Tower. From what he had observed and heard, the tranquil were mages, people, that were stripped of emotion and aspirations. They seemed content with their continued servitude and their state of being, but left the question of whether the treatment was humane. They tended to obey without question, create magical items, and hold no connections to anyone.

How someone could compare Lán Wàngjī to them would be debatable; his brother, uncle, and Wèi Yīng—

_ “Jiāng Wǎnyín and Wèi Wúxiàn have a good reputation in Yunmeng. They are highly capable. And, weren’t you happy for him to go with us? I was aware of the impression that you wanted Wèi Wúxiàn to join us. That’s why I agreed.” _

Anyway, there were plenty of people who knew he had emotions, unlike what others would say.

The guards, or “templars,” would not give him his Wàngjī or Bichén—outside of tense, heavily guarded, and “personalized” lessons—, so his possibilities for cultivation were limited. Still at least training with the templars allowed him to work on ways to pierce their armor with sword work. The more spiritual side of cultivation did not work so well against the templars, and neither did musical cultivation, but Bichén could slash and stab through the looser armored groves. The templars, who originally joked around at each other and his expense, soon grew quiet and focused.

Likewise, they were initially bemused by the idea of his knowledge of bows and arrows, but they eventually adjusted his schedule. 

However, he would still practice his stances —or silly dances, as the mages called them— and there were no rules against harmless actions like meditation or following the more simple Lán Sect rules. It was odd for a mage to wake up at 5 am and sleep at 9 pm always, but as long as he did not leave the bedrooms until 6 am and was back in the dorms by 10 pm others could only be so wary.

It did not take much mentioning and repeating before the staff and other disciples learned that Lán Wàngjī refuses to gossip or speak behind others’ backs as a rule. “Do not speak ill of others” and “Speak meagerly, for too many words only bring harm” are two of the Gūsū Lán rules. He was considered extremely polite; weird, but very polite.

The disciples took this as permission to mention whatever they felt like whether he was nearby or not, while the staff were extremely disappointed that a person with such potential would ignore their superiority. 

One thing he has picked up on is that he has a lot of catching up to do regarding this … Fade thing, the others are so scared of. The place did not seem scary to him when they took him to his initiation and apparent Harrowing. He had been thrust into a spiritual plane as soon as he had arrived. There, demons were supposed to attempt to possess or fight him.

Still, the Templars refused to permit him access to his weapons during the Harrowing.

“Someone else thrown to the wolves; as fresh and unprepared as ever.” The spirit’s behaviors matched his honorable brother, his xiōng zhǎng’s, but not. The fact that anyone would be worried for his safety left him feeling uneasy.

It set Lán Wàngjī on edge and his hand went to where Bichén would normally be. However, Bichén, the sword that had remained steadfast despite the years that passed, was not there. 

The spirit continued, “You don’t even know where you are, or if you will ever see another Cultivator. But you will. Trust that he will find his way back to you. Trust me, for I am a Spirit of Faith.”

The spirit most likely wanted to test his trust that the future would resolve itself and the strength of his confidence in his beliefs. As the spirit said, surely someone would find him. No doubt his real xiōng zhǎng would not stop until he found Lán Wàngjī. After all, they were brothers.

Perhaps Lán Wàngjī would even be able to find Wèi Yīng. If Inquiry could not find Wèi Yīng’s spirit in the cultivation world, maybe— maybe there was a chance he found his way to … Thedas, like Lán Wàngjī, after Wèi Yīng was killed in the Burial Mounds!

If so, Lán Wàngjī needed to escape this Harrowing and have access to Wàngjī. Lán Wàngjī had played Inquiry daily to try and find Wèi Yīng’s soul, but had not had as many chances since being taken to the Circle’s Tower. There was a chance that Wèi Yīng was alive!

Setting his shoulders, Lán Wàngjī set off further into the dream as soon as the spirit stated their beliefs. He walked swiftly, but refrained from running, due to the Lán Sect rules. The spirit trailed behind him and continued speaking.

The more turbulent Lán Wàngjī’s emotions, the more ghost wolves and wisps appeared. By the time he found anything else, it felt like ages had gone past.

The next spirit was much less cordial than Faith. 

As soon as the spirit materialized, seemingly from nowhere, the spirit immediately launched themself at Lán Wàngjī and screeched, “Soon I will see the Land of the Living with your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul.”

Instead of taking the spirit on in hand-to-hand combat, Lán Wàngjī twirled aside, therefore avoiding grappling with the aggressive spirit. Once outside of reach and the spirit had turned around, Lán Wàngjī calmly responded, “Wèi Yīng’s.”

The spirit’s next words cut like a knife, “I think not; would he want someone that betrayed him? 

The spirit moved closer, ending a few feet from Lán Wàngjī. The spirit gazed at their hand.

“Why would he accept someone who stood by whilst the clans aligned against Wèi Yīng and moved to complete the genocide of those under his protection?”

Lán Wàngjī felt his muscles tense and goosebumps raise under his robes.

Still, the spirit moved closer, this time they moved into his personal space and looked him in the eye, face to face. The spirit was wearing a wide smile, too large for its face.

“Someone who abandoned the son Wèi Yīng cared so much for?”

Lán Wàngjī finally reacted; he jabbed forward with his palms. The movement made the spirit fly backward, further into the dream land. The spirit landed several feet away, and smirked when they looked at Lán Wàngjī.

Lán Wàngjī quickly composed himself once more, he returned his hands to his sleeves and held his head high before he remarked, “I did not choose to abandon A-Yuan.”

“Even if you find Wèi Yīng’s soul what are the chances that it’ll be fractured and that he’ll hate you.”

“As long as Wèi Yīng lives, this one will be happy.”

The cultivator and the spirit circled one another, each keeping a sharp eye on the other. This spirit clearly did not follow the Gūsū Lán Clan’s rule of “Do not hold grudges” or else it would not be egging Lân Wàngjī on about previous events.

“You are like us, a soul ripped from its homeland and everything it loves, and trapped away in this tower.”

Lán Wàngjī refrained from responding, for each of his responses only seemed to further agitate the spirit.

He calmed his emotions and forced himself to contemplate his situation. The first spirit was calm and collected, if a bit angry towards the templars, and he had interacted with it in a tranquil manner. Perhaps this spirit was the same. He had been in a rush and desperate to return home, after all.

With time, and patience, the spirit calmed as well. Its lessons turned from wrathful vengeances to debates about justice and how to proceed on the righteous path.

Eventually, it let him go, once it had instilled upon him the importance of “Have a strong will and anything can be achieved” and “Uphold the value of justice.” The way the spirit mentioned “justice,” it was almost like—.

“Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see.” 

Lán Wàngjī pivoted on his heel to turn and face the figure.

However, instead of raising their sword against the cultivator, the Spirit remained standing where they were, with their hand on the pommel of their weapon. If the sight was not proof enough that the Spirit was above petty tricks, then their words were: “You Mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill. To be sent unarmed against a demon, indeed…”

The Spirit was armed with some sort of saber, like the Nie Sect, and was obviously expecting Lán Wàngjī to be fearful. To be “cowardly” indeed.

Lán Wàngjī squared his shoulders, straightened his back, and clasped his hands behind his back. The Spirit tensed, as if expecting him to pull out a weapon and attack suddenly, but almost relaxed when Lán Wàngjī spoke, “Will you lend aid?”

The sentence was curt and to the point, bordering on being a statement instead of a question, but the tension swiftly left their frame. “You are not the first mortal to seek my aid. I am Valor, a warrior Spirit.”

The Spirit of Valor spread his arms, as if to invite Lán Wàngjī to peruse his wares, and suddenly a large amount of weapons appeared on weapon racks surrounding him, “In this realm, everything that exists is an expression of a thought.”

The variety of weapons was amazing. There were makeshift weapons like pitchforks and scythes, but also swords, clubs, and staves of various types. In particular, Lán Wàngjī found his eyes drawn to one large jian in particular. It looked just like his sword, Bichén….

“Do you truly desire one of my weapons?” The Spirit asked before he tossed the other Bichén to Lán Wàngjī, “I will give one to you, if you agree to duel me first. The terms are simple: no magic, the goal is to unarm, and we will fight as we are.”

Lán Wàngjī caught the sword by the scabbard and unsheathed it in order to examine it further. Even the hilt’s cloud design and more intricate details were the same as Bichén. Furthermore, the sword was extremely well-balanced.

The Lán Sect taught that the proper way to exorcise spirits full of resentment was to talk to them first, calm them down if needed, learn what anchors them to the material plane, force them to leave if that doesn’t work, and destroy the spirit if all else fails. Combat experience was essential in Night Hunts and competitions between cultivators.

It seemed that templars and mages had an alternative philosophy. 

Lán Wàngjī and the Spirit of Valor squared up against each other, with the Spirit bracing himself and allocating the weapon in front of him with both hands. He was prepared for a quick and powerful long-distance attack.

Lán Wàngjī merely relaxed his posture and set his hand on the dream Bichén, ready to draw, but not committing to an action yet.

After a few milliseconds, the Spirit made his move, drawing back his sword and beginning to run at the cultivator. It was an obvious power move, intending to hit Lan Wangji’s weapon and force it out of his hand with the pure weight of the sabre. 

However, the cultivator rushed in at the same time, moving rapidly despite the robes. He smoothly ducked under the weighty sabre and jabbed the lighter sword towards the hands holding the Spirit’s weapon. A quick, decisive strike meant to force the Spirit onto the defensive, and that it did.

The swords collided as the Spirit, more out of battle instinct than anything, moved his sabre to block Lán Wàngjī’s strike at the last minute. The Spirit of Valor and Lán Wàngjī were face to face, one smiling and the other cold.

“Forgive my earlier sloth. Most who dare to use a weapon in these trials have little more skill than a proper grip, if that. Come! Show me what you're learned, cultivator!”

Lán Wàngjī faltered for half a second, stopping his attack and jumping back from the Spirit. He did not say he was a cultivator; however, he remembered that this Harrowing was supposed to occur in a dreamland. No doubt the Spirits had some connection to himself, on a metaphysical level. The Spirit gave him room to recuperate, something enemies outside of duels would not do, and then pressed the attack again.

The cultivator overstepped his balance, a minor mistake that would cost him his head in a serious battle. With a snort of disappointment, the Spirit brought his blade down to deliver a cut; he would stop short of killing, but he would offer no leniency for lapses in poise—

Lán Wàngjī utilized his dexterity again: instead of parrying or blocking, the cultivator leaned to the side to dodge the strike. 

The blade met nothing but air, and, in a flash, the Spirit realized he'd been played for a fool.

Using his opponent’s bulky sword against him, Lán Wàngjī bashed the Spirit’s hands with the pommel of his own.

Steel crashed down on the hilt of his blade as his own momentum reached the full extent of his swing, and the trauma knocked the weapon clear from his grasp.

As soon as the weapon was knocked out of their hands, the Spirit of Valor disappeared and a chuckle sounded from behind Lán Wàngjī.

Lán Wàngjī spun about once more and threw out his leg in a low sweep, just in case his earlier assessment was wrong that the Spirit of Valor was no trickster.

Otherwise.. did something sneak around to a blind spot when he was distracted by the Spirit of Valor! What about the Spirit of Valor and that which followed him?

Seemingly indifferent, and several feet away, a new Spirit laid patiently. The Spirit’s bearing presented them as a being that refused to be rushed.

In words that mimicked the Lán Sect’s rules, “Do not act impulsively” the Spirit reprimanded Lán Wàngjī, as if this place was under the purview of the Gūsū Lán Sect. The instruction was communicated slowly and calmly. 

‘I am a Spirit of Patience.”

“I have a challenge for you, friend. Answer three riddles correctly, and I will tell you what I know,” the Spirit of Patience required him to exercise restraint and answer riddles before it would let him pass. 

Regardless, Lán Wàngjī was then freed from the Harrowing.

* * *

Very little changed after completing the Harrowing.

Lán Wàngjī no longer had to wait for mentors to watch over his training and research, but there were still few places for alone time. If anything, there was less to do as an official mage, unless it was related to studying magic. For one thing, the templars took away the veneer of mages having a leadership role by removing access to the initiates’ chess tables.

Interaction with the younger mages was also greatly decreased.

Directly after he recuperated from the Harrowing, some Initiates tried to ambush him with questions. The initiates crowded around like the rabbits during feeding time at Gūsū Lán, with each one having a question regarding the Harrowing: “Is it dangerous? What was it like?”

It was quite a stupid rule that Mages could not talk about the Harrowing. The initiates wanted to know more about the Harrowing; how else would future mages succeed? Is practice and preparation not key in order to complete challenges? Surely throwing initiates at the Harrowing was harming chances of success.

He would probably be able to interact with the novices as a mentor, if he had a better relationship with the higher-level mages and spoke out more often

As it was, after the impromptu interrogation by the juniors and a subsequent conversation with the First Enchanter, Lán Wàngjī was moved to the senior mages’ level. His few belongings —most importantly Wàngjī, Bichèn, and his Gūsū Lán Sect robes— were brought up by a tranquil.

He finally had a room to practice Cultivation in, despite the lack of a door.

The official mage quarters were odd. There were only a few rooms located in the quarters, the dividing walls were mostly makeshift and made out of bookshelves, and the other residents were either all moved recently or were preparing to leave. The amount of pillows placed on the mages’ beds was also confusing, especially if one considered that inter-mage relationships were banned and relationships between Mages and other groups were frowned upon.

Maybe that was the reason for the door missing…. 

Absent residents or no, Wàngjī was not going to shuffle through the others’ things on a whim. Instead, Lán Wàngjī decided to turn around and wander the senior mages’ floor in order to orientate himself and figure out where everything was.

Like this, Wèi Yīng would gleefully find various ways to poke and prod at the Circle’s prideful and studious nature. 

The stockroom could be accessed through the senior mage living quarters, though it was only accessible through paperwork and interactions with the tranquil. All the items in the stockroom had to be approved by the templars and the higher ranked mages.

If any students were like Wèi Yīng, though it wouldn’t be odd for them to take advantage of a tool previously taken to be harmless. Apparently some novices had already figured out how to use blaze rods to antagonize and peek on others, after all.

Though, Wèi Yīng would probably find a hidden blackmarket or figure out who was the smuggler within the first couple of days in the Circle Tower.

Lán Wàngjī could still investigate the libraries, if he craved social interaction or wished to peruse the libraries’ magical texts. There was little to the library except the Andrastians’ historical times and various mages’ research texts. If the young masters’ time at the Cloud Recesses was to be taken into account, Wèi Yīng would probably introduce many disciples to erotica, whether drawn by his own hand or another’s collection.

Lán Wàngjī now had almost unlimited access to the Temple of Andraste. He was unlikely to use it outside of praying to Gūsū Lán’s First Sect Leader and the Heavenly Emperor when the Andrastians called for mandatory worship. Apparently worshipping someone other than the Maker and Andraste, and not praying regularly, was blasphemous.

Praying to Andraste and the Maker would make sense to the Andrastians, but Lán Wangjī wasn’t from here; there was no reason for the … prophetess and her God to support a cultivator from a different land. Wànjī had far more reason to beseech his own ancestor.

It seemed that his new title only made the chatter around him increase. One of the facts thrown about was that Lán Wàngjī‘s evolution was “The swiftest transition from initiate to mage, ever!”

Just like the Harrowing, this fact did not make much sense. It shouldn’t have been surprising to the mages and templars; surely apostates make a quicker transition from Initiate to a higher rank, since they would have knowledge of magic already.

Residents of the Circle Tower also tended to speculate as to which branch of magic Lán Wàngjī would take part in: “I hear he’s mostly been studying the spirit healer branch” and “Not the best bedside manner, though….” The speculations led to further questions about mages and magic. There were some who saw his scars and began to whisper to each other, “I hear they suspect someone of practicing blood magic.”

Blood magic? Mages that could control others. It sounded like a combination of a mage and a spirit or spiritual presence. The way the others talked about blood mages was akin to how cultivators gossiped about Wèi Yīng. They sounded dangerous to enemies and when worked into a frenzy. They could either be driven insane by power or, as with Wèi Yīng, there might be a misunderstanding. 

Besides, didn’t the Circle of Magi essentially deal in blood magic, what, with their phylacteries? They took blood when a magic wielder arrived, and then kept it in order to use a tracking spell if they misbehaved.

Once he neared the first enchanter’s office, it became clear that there was a ruckus being raged inside. There were no sounds of spells being cast or objects being thrown. However, there were two raised voices shouting at each other, and an initiate shifting from foot to foot outside the door. 

“Many are already going to Ostagar— Wynn, Uldred, and most of the senior mages! We’ve committed enough of our own to this war effort—!”

“Your own? Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers?”

__

There was no doubt First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir were going at it.

Lán Wàngjī gave a long look at the initiate and waited until they left before knocking on the door. It was not a good sign that the first enchanter and knight-commander were arguing. Interrupting the first enchanter and knight-commander’s exchange might not be wise, but his situation was related to the issue.

He had a bad feeling about the creatures, Darkspawn, that he’d heard First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir arguing about sending the Mages to the frontlines.

He needed to get out. He needed to be useful. 

Somehow, he got the feeling what he had to say would only stoke the fire….

The templar was red in the face, squared shoulders, and had invaded Irving’s personal space.

Irving, however, faced the door and must have abandoned the fight when the door opened. The first enchanter looked like some mix of a bristled and angry man with the crows feet and genial smile of an old man. The contrast might have been disconcerting, but Lán Wàngjī has seen the face before. He saw it on his teacher’s face when Wèi Yīng did or said something ridiculous and the teacher looked to Wàngjī for the proper answer.

_ “It’s not that I didn’t know the answer; I was just thinking of a fourth option.” _

“Well, spit it out. What is the meaning of this interruption?”

When next Lán Wàngjī looked at them, the templar looked only more incensed, while the mage looked intrigued.

He gave a small bow, with his hands in his sleeves in front of him and boldly stated, “I am going to the frontlines.”

Now wait one second, Lan—“ When Lán Wàngjī raised his head, he was kind of amazed at how purple and how many veins popped up on Knight-Commander Greagoir’s face when he was incensed.

Lán Wàngjī refrained from telling the knight-commander that he mispronounced “Lán.”

The first enchanter chuckled and gave Lán Wàngjī a witty grin and clapped his hands. Therefore, First Enchanter Irving interrupted the knight-commander’s statement and drew Lán Wàngjī and Knight-Commander Greagoir’s eyes toward him.. “As wonderful as it is that you have finally found your voice, this is something that needs to be discussed at length, and a templar guard would need to be assigned to you.”

In other words, Lán Wàngjī would not be allowed to go. The cultivator straightened and stared deep into the first enchanter’s eyes.

“Mages are required.”

“You’re not even a senior mage.”

“I am an official mage.”

First Enchanter Irving sighed before he looked at Knight-Commander Greagoir, then at the newly anointed mage once more. It was great that Lan had found his voice, finally, but did he really need to be so demanding. It wasn’t befitting of a Circle Mage. “We’re already sending Circle Mages and templars to Ostagar.”

“I will join them.”

Greagoir perked up once more, and barked “They’re leaving today! You won’t have the chance to pack properly.”

“I have few belongings.”

Irving already felt a headache coming on, if not from this conversation, then from the next conversation he would have with Greagoir.

  
  


One hour later, Lán Wàngjī, Knight-Commander Greagoir, and First Enchanter Irving were happened upon by the seven mages selected to be sent to the frontlines. The conversation had stalled and devolved into a staring match and as the men tried to communicate their thoughts to the others via telepathy.

Unfortunately for the knight-commander, when more mages, especially those with a respectful educational background like Wynne and the others, showed up at the first enchanter’s office it did not bolster his point. 

Two hours later, Lán Wàngjī strode out of the tower and into the blinding sun. Sure there were windows in the Circle Tower which had allowed sunlight into the building, but they were located far above the mages’ reach. Direct access to the sun was much brighter than what little streamed through the windows.

* * *

**OMAKE**  
  


How did Lán Wàngjī get into this situation? First a random initiate confessed he loved a priestess, then he was dragged into a quest to retrieve a vial of blood so the priestess and initiate could run away from the Circle Tower together. Then, they’re getting caught, the Initiate is disappearing in a whirlwind of blood, and now he’s just standing around talking to a gray warden, the first enchanter, and the knight-commander.

“I am conscripting this mage into the Gray Wardens.” Well, Warden Commander Duncan really did not beat around the bush. 

Light brown eyes switched from man to man, giving no sign of any internal dilemma.

First Enchanter Irving gave a sad smile towards Lán Wàngjī, as if this was the best news a mage could receive under the circumstances. Knight-Commander Greagoir was ranting about Wàngjī not being punished for aiding and abetting a blood mage. Warden Commander Duncan, well, he looked smug. The warden commander could apparently mandatorily conscript whoever they liked into the gray wardens, with no trouble. He was getting a trained mage with no choice in the matter.

What would Wèi Yīng do in this circumstance?

Honestly, he’d probably just say, “Gray's not my color” and turn his back on the three. He’d walk off with that cheeky grin, hands behind his head, and a confident bounce in his step. Everyone would gasp and whisper among themselves, “The Yílíng Patriarch told off the First Enchanter, the Knight-Commander, and the Warden Commander in one fell swoop!”

It would cause no end of a headache, Lán Wàngjī’s response might even be “Shameless,” like in the Cloud Recesses’ Library Pavilion.

However, Wèi Yīng’s silver eyes would shine, like they always did when he enacted a prank, and he would probably crow about the occasion to anyone who would listen. He was powerful enough to get away with it, most likely, despite his reliance on Demonic Cultivation. He’d probably have a gaggle of young mages following him and hanging on his every word.

If one had to relinquish all ties to the outside world in order to become a gray warden, like Lán Wàngjī had heard….

If Lán Wàngjī had to relinquish his ties to Wèi Yīng…

“I cannot accept.”

All three powerful men looked at Lán Wàngjī, eyes wide with disbelief.

Warden Commander Duncan was the first to recover. He coughed into a fist before responding, “You have no choice in the matter. Conscription is mandatory.”

Lán Wàngjī stared at the warden commander for a second before pulling his robe and undershirt to the side. He revealed a stylized brand, in the e shape of what seemed to be the sun, burned into his chest, “A cut is nothing compared to a brand.”

The three superiors glanced between themselves, as if they expected the other to understand how the brand appeared on Lán Wàngjī’s chest. First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir seemed to be as in the dark about how their student obtained the mark.

Warden Commander Duncan frowned and furrowed his brow, and warned Lán Wàngjī, “You will be branded tranquil if you stay.”

“I will not stay.”

First Enchanter Irving had a strange feeling like he had been in this situation before, and he knew the result. “But you refuse to be a gray warden?”

“Mm.”

  
  



End file.
